Our Friend Robert 2

Robert's puking, he's exhausted, he's having a wee lie down.
The tumor on his neck has got smaller but he still has to work to swallow and puking doesn't help.
So he's resting.
He's getting the shit kicked out of him but he still laughs when I say funny things.
He can't sleep lieing down and hasn't had a full nights sleep in over a month. The hospital bed he and kumi ordered hasn't turned up for weeks.

He's stoic and philosophical, his imminent survival has been rated at 50/50, which is like using numbers to say "who knows?"

Robert's disappointed that he's allergic to morphine, very disappointed.
Sailing off on a pink cloud appeals to him.
I choose not to tell him that if he overdoses the pink cloud will be more like the most intense systems overload he will ever experience followed by darkness and that he won't be alive for the rash. I don't feel it's in his interests to know this.

Dinner conversation involved suicide methods.
Jumping from a plane, drowning, shredding machine, the 'red mist' school of suicide in which you sought to explosively evaporate.
Robert returned to his present first choice which is the Devils Sphincter.
Robert and I had discovered and named the devils sphincter shortly before we risked our lives to look into its colon some years prior.

Part of Hawaii's coast is a live lava-flow meeting the sea. Robert and I had hiked a couple of miles across lava deadlands at sunset to go exploring in the danger- zone.
What we found, about 200 yards inland, above some active lava-flow moments from the sea, was a convex hardened dome of lava with a hole at the top that glowed with a white hot heat.
We each did it, one after the other, we tip toed up knowing the thin ground beneath could and would collapse eventually, knowing that below was a river of lava , but knowing also that it was worth risking death to sate the curiosity of looking down that hole.

So Robert is still looking at the sphincter as an option. Last week he invited me to die with him and his dog that bites people by molten suicide. I declined. So he bought it up again and I told him to consider that perhaps the lava at that point was very shallow and he just landed on his face. I could tell he hadn't thought about that because he laughed.

We then went on to discuss the willpower involved in securing a plastic bag over ones head and over-riding every self preservationary impulse as you consciously suffocated. We put that one in the"Too Hard" basket.
Pass the salt.
Robert is beyond salt, he has no taste buds, they have been irradiated, They might recover if he does.

I got Gazzo's number from Nick and Robert rang him in England.
It is well known in certain circles that the safest way for Robert to express love for Gazzo is by insulting him to his core periodically and usually publically. Roberts chosen method of affection outreach has, over the years manifest in bouts of vitriol sent in Gazzos direction. Easy to misinterpret but there it is.
So they talked on the phone and that was a highlight for Robert.

He concedes he may get through this. At the same time he notes it's not death that worries him so much as dieing. He doesn't want to die slowly and feels that he is but recognises he may not be.
You know that old chestnut.

His truck is looking gorgeous and cute and roars into life. It still remains to be tested in that it's never gone over 20 miles without breaking down the entire time Roberts owned it.
He drove me to the bus-stop 200 meters from his front gate in it. Next week we'll take it further.

So it would seem our friend Robert lacks for new and interesting things.
I'll just leave this here...
robert nelson
one six dash two zero six six Keaau Pahoa Rd
Pahoa HI nine six seven seven eight dash seven six zero two